Beauvallet · Chapter 6 (2/2)

Sir Nicholas stood up, his fingers busy with the untying of his points. “Further, rogue, it might suit us better to be gone again just so soon as the Venture is ready to put to sea.”

Joshua’s face fell. “Is it so indeed, master?”

The glancing blue eyes looked down at him a moment. “Rest you snug at home. Do I constrain you? I am off on a wild adventure this time.”

“The more reason to take me along,” said Joshua severely. “If you are to be off again I shall certainly accompany you.” He picked up the doublet from the bed, and frowned a stern reproof. “This is to jest, sir. I shall be at hand to keep a watch over our interests. I do not say that I had not as lief be at home, but I shall without doubt go where you go, for that is clearly my fate.”

“Like Ruth,” said Sir Nicholas flippantly.

In a little while he was descending the stairs again, very brave in his doublet of the French cut, with the high wings to the shoulders, and the embroidered sleeves. He had a fine leg, set off to advantage in stockings of carnation silk, with rosettes to the garters below his knees. The little neat ruff made no more than a stiff cup for his face; my Lord Beauvallet, favouring a wider fashion, called it Italianate, and looked severely.

My lord and his lady were found in the winter-parlour, where supper was spread upon a draw-table. Sir Nicholas came in upon them, splendid in his rich trappings, and set a small casket before my lady. “Spain pays toll to beauty, Kate,” he said, and looked wickedly under his lashes at Gerard’s disapproving countenance.

My lady knew very well what she might expect to find in the casket, but chose to dissemble. “Why, Nicholas, what do you bring me?” she wondered, raising her watchett-blue eyes to his face.

“A poor gewgaw, no more. There is a length of China silk in my baggage you might make into a gown, or some such thing.”

My lady had opened the casket, and clasped her hands in breathless ecstasy. “Oh, Nick! Rubies!” she gasped, and almost reverently drew forth a long chain set with the precious stones. She held it in her hands, and looked doubtfully at Gerard. “See, my lord! Nicholas makes me a noble present.”

“Ay,” said my lord glumly. “Jewels filched from some Spanish hold.”

My lady sighed, and put the chain down. “Should I not wear it, dear sir?”

“Tush!” Nicholas said bracingly, and caught up the chain from the table, and cast it about my lady’s thin neck. “I’ve other such toys for the Queen. I warrant you she will wear them. Heed him not.”

“I am sure,” said my lady, plucking up courage, “that what the Queen’s Grace does not disdain to wear I need not.”

Gerard sat down in the high-backed chair at the head of the table. “You will do as you please, madam,” he said deeply.

Supper was eaten in silence, as was customary, but when the green goose had been taken away, and sweetmeats were on the table, and Hippocras set before my lord, conversation began again. My lord dipped his fingers in a gilt basin handed to him by a lackey liveried in blue, and spoke more genially. “Well, Nick, ye say naught of your designs. Have you come home to stay?”

“Confess, brother, you are more at ease when I am abroad!” Nicholas rallied him, and poured Hippocras into the delicate glass of Venetian ware before him.

Gerard permitted a smile to break his gravity. “Nay, acquit me, I do not gainsay, though, ye are a mad, roystering lad.”

“Swashbuckler, ye were wont to call me.”

“Well.” My lord smiled more broadly.

“Oh no, I am sure he is sober enough now!” my lady said in a flutter. “No hard words, I beg! Why he numbers some thirty-four⁠—thirty-five summers, surely?”

“God ’a mercy, do I so?” Sir Nicholas said, startled. He lifted his glass, and held it up to see the light through the wine in it. He seemed to be pondering some quaint thought; my lord saw the corners of his mouth lift a little.

“Time to be done with all this ruffling on the high seas,” my lord said.

Beauvallet shot him a quick look; there was a hidden jest in his eyes. He returned to the contemplation of his wine.

My lady rose. “You will have much to say to one another,” she said. “Ye will find me in the gallery anon.”

Beauvallet went to hold the door for her. As she passed him she put out a hand, and smiled vaguely. “Indeed, I hope you will listen to my lord, Nick. We should be glad to have you at home.”

He carried her fingers to his lips, but would give her neither yea nor nay. She went out, and he closed the door behind her.

My lord pushed back his chair a little way from the table, sat more at his ease, and poured another glass of wine. “Sit ye down, Nick, sit ye down! Let me know your mind.” He observed the secret jest still in his brother’s face, and knew a feeling of some slight alarm. There was no knowing what folly Nick might be planning.

Sir Nicholas pulled his chair round a little, sank into it, with one leg thrown over the arm. His fingers closed round the stem of his glass, twisting it this way and that. His other hand played gently with his pomander.

My lord nodded and smiled. “I see you still have that trick of swinging your pomander. As I remember it never boded good. My memory serves, eh?” He drank his wine, and set down the glass. “Thirty-five summers! Ay, my lady is in the right of it. Thirty-five summers and still roaming the world. Now to what purpose, Nick?”

Beauvallet shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, to bring rubies home for Kate,” he parried.

“It’s what I don’t like. I’ll not conceal it from you. It’s very well for such men as Hawkins or Drake, but I would remind you, Nick, that you stand next to me in the succession. To make the Grand Tour is well enough⁠—though what good ye came by from it, God knoweth!”

“Nay, brother,” Sir Nicholas protested. “I learned to foin with the point from the great Carranza himself in Toledo! Grant me that.”

My lord was roused to an expression of strenuous disapproval. “A pretty ambition, God wot! All this pricking and poking with a barbarous rapier is an invention of the devil himself. An honest sword-and-buckler was good enough for our fathers.”

“But not good enough for us,” said Beauvallet. “Yet I will engage to worst you in an encounter with your sword-and-buckler, Gerard. I believe I have not altogether lost the trick of it. But for delicacy, for finesse, let me have the rapier!” He made an imaginary pass in the air. “What, you say I learned no good upon my travels? Did I not sit at the feet of Carranza, and after find out Marozzo himself in Venice? Ay, he was old, I grant you, but he had some tricks still to show. Alack, ye have no Italian! Ye should else read his Opera Nova, in the which book he carefully explains the uses of the falso and the dritto filo. No good, ye say? Produce me the man who can worst me with the rapier and the dagger!”

My lord maintained an unyielding front. “Do you count such foreign tricks a gain? What else have you to show for these years of junketting abroad?”

“A rare Toledo blade, brother,” returned Nicholas, unabashed. “A blade tempered in the waters of the Tagus, and inscribed with the name of Andrea Ferrara between eight crowns. Yet another such blade, from the hand of Sahagom. What, more? Why, then, a suit of Jacobi armour you yourself did not despise; an acquaintance with our cousins in France; an intimate knowledge of the French, the Spanish, and the Italian tongues⁠—which I think ye lack⁠—”

“The English of my forefathers sufficeth me,” said my lord grimly.

“You’ve no ambition, Gerard,” mourned Beauvallet.

“I’ve no vagrant spirit,” said my lord tartly. “Will you never be still? I pass over the Grand Tour; I may pass over even that mad emprise ye set forth on with Drake⁠—”

“A thousand thanks!” Beauvallet’s eyes were alight.

“I grant you it was worth the doing,” said my lord grudgingly. “Ay, a rare feat, and all honour to you for compassing it.”

“Give honour to Drake, where it is due,” said Beauvallet, and lifted his glass. “We drink his health! To Drake, the master-mariner!”

My lord drank the toast, but without enthusiasm. “It’s very well, but why ye must needs cleave so fast to this same Sir Francis passeth my comprehension.”

“Does it so?” Beauvallet said. “But then, brother, you have not sailed the world round in his company, nor learned seacraft of him, nor faced sack, battle and wreck at his side.”

“Ye have imbibed unfit notions from him. A voyage round the world! Very well, very well, a feat indeed, and duly we honoured it. Ye brought home a store of riches, moreover, enough for any man. Then was the time to call an end to this wandering fever. But did ye? Nay, ye built your fine ship, and must needs be off again. A madness! A most damnable folly, Nick, give me leave to say!”

Sir Nicholas bowed his raven head in mock contrition. “I cry your pardon, good my lord!”

“Ay, and sit there as graceless as the day ye were first breeched,” said my lord, a hint of humour in his deep voice. “Nay, Nick, I speak advisedly. Ye have laid up a goodly treasure, as I know who husband it for you. Treasure come by in a way I like not, but let it go. There is the manor of Basing waiting for you any time you choose to go to it. My lady brings me no heirs, nor is not like to. I look to you. What comes to our house if you be slain or drowned? Get a wife, and be done with this roystering!”

Sir Nicholas lifted his pomander to his nose. “Give me joy, brother, I am about to get me a wife.”

My lord was momentarily surprised, but he hid it quickly. “In good time. My lady hath her eye upon a likely maid for you. We had thought on the Lady Alison, daughter of Lord Gervais of Alfreston, but there are others beside. Ye might go into Worcestershire for a bride. My sister writes sundry names might please you.”

Beauvallet held up his hand. His eyes were fairly brimful now with that secret jest. “Hold, hold, Gerard! I am going to look in Spain for my bride.”

My lord set down his glass with a snap that came near to breaking it. He stared under his projecting brows. “What’s this? What new folly?”

“None, I swear. My choice is made. Give me joy, brother! I shall bring home a bride before a year is out.”

My lord sat back in his chair. “Expound me this riddle,” he said quietly. “Ye jest, I think.”

“Never less. I give you a new toast.” He came to his feet and lifted his glass on high. “Doña Dominica de Rada y Sylva!”

My lord did not drink it. “A Spanish Papist?” he asked. “Do you ask me to believe that?”

“No Papist, but a dear heretic.” Sir Nicholas leaned on the goffered-leather back of his chair. With a sinking heart my lord noted the scarce curbed energy of him, the exultant look in his face. He feared the worst. The worst came. “I took her and her father aboard the Venture after the sack of the Santa Maria. More of that anon. Since she would have it so, and since to that I pledged my word, I set them ashore on the northern coast of Spain. But I swore I would ride into Spain to seek her, and so I shall do, brother, never doubt me.”

My lord sat still in his chair, looking up at Nicholas. His face was set. “Nick, if this be indeed no jest⁠—”

“God’s my pity, wherefor should I jest?” Beauvallet cried impatiently. “I am in earnest, in deadly earnest!”

“Then ye are mad indeed!” my lord said, and struck the table with his open palm. “Mad, and should be clapped up! Fool, do ye think to ride scatheless into Spain in these days?”

The smile flashed out; Sir Nicholas nodded. “Ay, I think to come out of Spain with a whole skin.”

My lord got up out of his chair. “Nick, Nick, what devil rides you? We have no ambassador in Spain today. How should you fare?”

“Alone. The stars always fight for me, Gerard. Will you take a wager that I do not come home with a bride on my arm?”

“Nay, have done with laughing! To what a pass has this senseless love of danger led you? Lad, heed what I say! If ye go into Spain ye will never come out again. The Inquisition will have you in its damnable toils, and there is no power under the sun can save you then!”

Sir Nicholas snapped finger and thumb in the air. “A fig for the Inquisition! Gerard, my careful Gerard, I give you Reck Not!”